


the lovers cried, the poets dreamed

by thatiranianphantom



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I PROMISE you this is not a Barchie endgame, Pining Bughead, Unhappy Barchie, Your humble author is nervous about posting it, please read the notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29368740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatiranianphantom/pseuds/thatiranianphantom
Summary: Leaning close, he whispers in Betty’s ear. “Do you see him? Do you see them?”She nods frantically. “They’re here, Jug. They’re going to hurt everyone. They’re going to kill everyone.”Jughead shakes his head. “Never, Betty. You’re too strong. They’ll never get you.”S5 canon-adjacent. Betty and Jughead are apart, but are they ever really apart?
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, One-sided Barchie
Comments: 29
Kudos: 87





	the lovers cried, the poets dreamed

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just going to throw this out there - I ran this by TWO people and they both told me to post this. I am still more than a bit nervous though. 
> 
> This fic is, essentially, self-indulgence. I love hurt/comfort so much. And while I believe 1. Betty is a badass who don't need no man and 2. two men fighting over a girl is some heteronormative bullshit, my SOUL craves hurt/comfort. 
> 
> So if you see some Barchie (which really, is just them mutually using each other to help with the Sads) and some OOC characters...please don't hate me? 
> 
> Bughead endgame, people.

It was an arrangement that made sense to Betty and Archie. 

It wasn’t…. _ together _ together. They weren’t a couple. It was casual. As casual as it could ever be with childhood friends. And it was...okay. It helped a little bit. It did what someone in her bed usually did. It made her feel a bit less lonely.

Sometimes it felt like pretending, though. Sometimes, Betty felt as off as she ever did. Being back in Riverdale was a strange feeling, like the world had gotten smaller. And being here, solving murders, it felt different than it once did. Perhaps, she thinks, because before, there were stolen kisses and warm arms at night and a person she loved who loved what they were doing as much as she did.

He still exists. He’s still here, but  _ they _ aren’t. 

Even more so lately, after the fight. She shouldn’t be surprised. Ever since she got back, Betty and Jughead were in a powder keg set to explode. They barely looked at each other; things said to each other were fractional and terse. He didn’t love her anymore, and he certainly didn’t trust her anymore. She couldn’t blame him. They were only waiting for a match before they exploded. 

And that match was ignited by the tiniest thing, a miscommunication on who took home the notes.

(They had come to share them, like divorced parents splitting custody, only in this case, their “children” were their case notes.)

He had thought it was his turn; she had thought it was hers, so she had brought them home. And the powder keg exploded. 

They say you shouldn’t fight with your best friend, because they know exactly where to hit you. Maybe Betty and Jughead weren’t exactly best friends. Not like they used to be, at least, but the fight was explosive, and it feels like an open wound in both of them. Like something that never fully healed was ripped open, violently and without warning. 

And then there were accusations flung. Some deserved, some not. Something had consumed both of them, something white-hot, and the worst words either of them could think of were tossed at the other person. 

_ Just like your father, a washed-up drunk who never made anything of himself.  _

_ Awfully rich coming from the perfect little princess whose whole family are serial killers. How’s following in those footsteps going?  _

  
  


They say these things, and then the silence rings in between them. Betty feels as if there’s an open, gaping wound in her chest, so big she’s sure there’s blood pooling on the floor.

But she’s Betty Cooper, so after the fight is over, she holds her head high and walks away. Not too fast. He doesn’t have that power over her. He won’t see. 

It’s not until she makes it home and the door closes that the tears fall hard and fast. Before she knows it, they are great, heaving sobs, and she’s alone.

So the next day, she resolves not to be alone. Archie looks just as sad as her, and he gives no protest as she kisses him. 

* * *

  
  


_ Perfect. Darkness.  _

Those words are what she needs Archie to banish. That’s the reason behind some of their interactions. But it’s mutual, and it’s Archie, so it helps in a way. 

  
  
  
  


She doesn’t speak to Jughead on anything that is not the case. People look between them, and she knows they want to say something, but they never do. He doesn’t meet her eyes, she doesn’t meet his eyes, and that is what they are. 

That hole inside her widens every time she’s near him, so she needs Archie, kissing his way down her body, to make her feel a bit less dead. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Betty’s forehead starts to burn one day. Her teeth begin to chatter, her limbs shake, as her entire body flushes with fever. 

Betty, at first, refuses to acknowledge the fever. She presses a cold towel to her head as she goes over the case files, chugs down water and Advil. She stubbornly pins the evidence to the board, even as she can barely walk or see straight. It comes on suddenly, and a few hours later, she’s shaking with hacking coughs. 

Jughead says nothing. She finds a water bottle on her side of the table, and she can feel his gaze burning into her, but still, he says nothing. 

When Archie finds her next, she’s wearing three sweaters and still shivering. The office’s heat has been cranked up to the degree that it like being hit in the face with a slap of heat upon entering, yet she is still shivering and curled into herself. Archie sees her as he comes in. The air is tense (but hot), and Jughead is down to his t-shirt. Archie surveys the scene. Betty is sitting stubbornly over the case files, Jughead’s eyes are sharply on her but saying nothing. 

It’s fairly obvious what’s going on. Archie strides over to Betty, plucking at her arm. “You’re sick,” he says.

She lets out a cough. “I’m fine, Archie. Did you find out anything?”

He nods. “I did. I found you sick. So I’m taking you home to bed.” He thinks he hears Jughead’s inhale behind him, but the other man says nothing. 

Betty fixes him with a glare. “I missed the part where that’s your choice.”

Archie groans. “Betty, come on. Look at you. You should be home, in bed. Resting.”

Betty shakes her head. “I am  _ fine _ , Archie. I will rest when the murders are solved.”

Archie winds a finger into the material of the sweater. “Betty, you are wearing three sweaters. The murders will still be here tomorrow, and in the meantime, Jughead can help. Right?

For a moment, she looks almost appeased, but that turns into a grimace as another series of coughs force their way out. 

Archie lays a hand on her back. “Betty, let’s go home.” 

Head still down, Betty shakes her head. 

Jughead’s voice is so soft it’s barely audible, and it almost sounds like a plea when he says “Betty…”

The room is silent for a moment, and then Betty inhales a shaky sigh and nods ever so slightly. 

“Fine,” she breathes. 

  
  


As soon as Betty settles into bed, she curls in on herself and falls asleep. 

Unsure what to do, Archie gets her a drink of water and lays a blanket over her. 

Betty stays in that bed for the next three days, shuddering, eating and drinking sporadically, and coughing. Her phone is on silent, but it vibrates against the nightstand regularly. 

(Veronica barely speaks to him, but she does manage to ask how Betty is and notes that Jughead had asked how Betty was. In two words, apparently - “she okay?”. Veronica misses nothing, though, and while his tone was casual, the look in his eyes was not.) 

Archie remembers taking care of Veronica when she was ill, during one of the rare times. He remembers cuddling in bed, making her soup (out of a can), and having her nicely choke a few bites down with a “thank you, Archiekins.” 

Betty, however….Betty is in the fetal position, but she pushes him away when he gets too close, and she stubbornly insists she needs nothing when he asks several times. 

Betty seems to be independent to the point of self-destruction. 

On a day where she has had two coughing fits in an hour instead of three, Betty declares herself healed and goes to her case files. However, having not been out of bed in days, she stumbles around the kitchen and manages to stumble with a knife and send it careening into her leg, something about not being able to see straight. 

The cut is large and deep. It bleeds rapidly, but Betty methodically dials Archie and, in a brusque tone, tells him to take her to the hospital, holding a towel over her injury. 

She’s relatively coherent when the cut is wrapped up, and she’s driven to the ER, but the adrenaline seems to wear off in the car. Betty sags with or without the cut on her leg, and Archie has to help her into the hospital, shuffling her feet, head lolling, and eyes half-open. She coughs from deep in her throat, and he can feel her skin burning through her clothes. 

They take her in right away, shepherding her into a chair and wheeling her to an exam room. 

  
  


And as soon as the doctors grab her, Betty seems to come into consciousness a bit. Her tired, red eyes scrutinize the white coats, and at that moment, Archie witnesses a physical transformation. The look that crosses her face is one Archie has never, ever seen on Betty Cooper. As soon as she sees the doctors, a look glazes over her eyes, and her body jerks violently away, with more force than someone sick and injured should be able to possess. 

At first, it’s Betty pulling away from everyone in the examination room. 

Then, it’s her screams. 

It’s a Betty he’s never seen. A look takes over her eyes, and her fingers curl into tight fists. Archie barely has time to duck before her fists are swinging hard, and her voice comes in a tight scream. 

“Get away from me,” she yells. “No, Dad!”

_ Dad _ . It stops everyone in their tracks. 

Archie knows that Betty’s father is dead. 

But Betty is looking at a doctor in almost paralyzed fear, and while one arm is swinging, the other one covers her face. 

“Oh no, no, no,  _ no _ ,” he hears her saying. 

She sees the doctor as her father. Archie has no earthly clue what to do. Betty has never openly displayed the ramifications of all she has been through before, but the illness seems to be the catalyst to this other side of her. He slings an arm around her waist and tries to guide her to the bed. Archie can feel the heat radiating off Betty in waves, can see the sweat dripping down her face and the blood pouring from her leg, but she fights all of them.

Betty hits and screams and thrashes. The blood trickles down to her feet, but nobody can control her until she eventually backs herself into a corner. 

Trapped, her fists fly wildly at them, amid screams of “No, Charles, don’t kill me!” and “The Black Hood! The Black Hood is here!” 

Archie remembers an army doctor talking about this once. Trauma. PTSD. Betty’s eyes are wide but glazed over. She’s living nowhere near reality.

He takes a step forward. “Betty,” he soothes. “It’s okay.” 

He manages to get up to her arm. “The Black Hood’s gone, Betty, he’s dead, he can’t hurt you.” 

Again, Archie barely manages to duck, and it’s only by virtue of army instincts that allow him to miss the blow that comes at him.

Betty didn’t try to hurt him. The person he sees in her wide-eyed gaze is not the Betty he knows. Now, the doctors talk about sedating her, and he knows from experience what that would be like. 

And there’s only one person he can call that would possibly have a chance of calming her down before sedating her and only adding to her trauma. So he quickly slips out into the hallway and dials the contact before he can stop himself. 

“Please don’t hang up. Betty needs you, or it’s going to be bad. We’re at the hospital.”

There’s a long pause and then a dial tone. 

* * *

  
  


Archie knows they want to sedate Betty once they can get close enough to her. He also knows what that will result in. They’ll pin her down and inject her. And when she comes to, it’ll be in a room full of strangers who she is convinced are her father and brother and want to kill her. 

He expects they probably would have sedated her earlier if they could get close enough, but Betty is stubborn and hasn’t let them. At a certain point, they’d stopped trying to get near her and were now trying to soothe her, which was not working in the slightest. He sees the shadows of police officers by the door, and his breath comes quicker. 

And then, into the room strides Jughead Jones, and his eyes go straight to Betty.

Betty doesn’t even seem to register it. She’s gotten a hold of an IV pole and is swinging it at anyone who dares come near, still murmuring about Charles and Hal, absolutely delirious and soaked through with sweat. 

But Jughead displays no fear whatsoever. 

He walks straight up to her and winds one of his hands into Betty’s. He tips her chin toward his face in a quick reaction and uses the other hand to trap her hand against his chest quickly. 

“Hey, Betts,” he says, and his voice is softer than it has been in years.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Betty’s eyes flick up to Jughead’s. 

“Jug,” she says hoarsely.

He smiles at her, lays her hand out flat so that her palm presses against his chest. 

Leaning close, he whispers in Betty’s ear. “Do you see him? Do you see them?”

She nods frantically. “They’re here, Jug. They’re going to hurt everyone. They’re going to kill everyone.” 

Jughead shakes his head. “Never, Betty. You’re too strong. They’ll never get you.”

Archie sees Betty’s shoulders relax, just a fraction, but it allows Jughead to slide in closer, to whisper things he can barely hear in her ear. And the way she’s looking at him, it’s a look Archie hasn’t seen in a long time. 

Jughead’s fingers catch on the knots in Betty’s hair. “It’s okay, Betts. We have a whole army to protect you. They’ll never get you. They couldn’t; you’re too good for them. Too strong, too brave.”

Betty sags finally, leaning into Jughead and releasing the IV pole. 

She’s eased into bed, and Jughead has one arm around her, stroking her hair back gently and one hand tightly clasping hers. His lips are pressed to her hair, laying kisses occasionally and murmuring about how strong she is, how she’s safe, how they’ll get through this.

It’s such a radical departure from where they were just a few days ago, with absolutely no warning. Archie can scarcely believe what he’s seeing, but Betty is clutching Jughead’s hand, and he’s murmuring words into her ear like absolutely nothing happened between them. Like they are who they were years ago. Like the last time they were together, there wasn’t enough tension to choke on. 

  
  
  


He leaves the room. He feels very much like a third wheel, and Betty doesn’t even look at him. It’s an hour later when Jughead comes striding into the waiting room, looking exhausted in more ways than one. He doesn’t look at Archie, but he gives a short nod to him. 

“She’s asleep,” he mutters. “The doctors got the leg stitched. Said she had pneumonia, put her on meds for that too.” 

He can’t help it, really can’t help the anger that rises in him. It’s irrational, and he and Betty aren’t...something defined. But as has always been the case with Betty and Jughead, he lifts right out of this situation. 

“I guess you’ll be staying now,” he mutters. Jughead’s spine straightens, and he whirls to face Archie. 

“Got something to say, _ Arch _ ?” he rasps, the name sounding more like a curse. “Because the last time I checked, I was called in to fix something you couldn’t handle.” 

Archie jumps up, pressing his face near Jughead’s. “I could have handled that.”

Jughead gives a mocking laugh. “Right, that’s why she was two seconds away from sedation.”

“I took care of her this whole time, Jughead. Where were you?”

Another wry chuckle sounds like it’s being wrenched from Jughead. “Taking care of her, huh? In more ways than one, I guess.” 

Archie strides closer to Jughead. The other man faces him head-on, anger flaring in both their eyes. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s the problem.”

“What is?” 

“Jealousy. You’re jealous of Betty and me.” 

Jughead tightens more, stuffing his closed fists in his pockets. His eyes are bright and angry, but Archie knows there is hurt lurking. 

“You know, Archie, let me make this simple enough for even you to understand. You called  _ me _ . Because you couldn’t help her, and you never will be, because you don’t know the first thing about her. You’ve never cared to. You can’t see outside yourself, and that’s why you needed to call me in.”

White rage courses through both men and the nurses start to gaze their way. Archie closes the rest of the distance between them until they’re nose to nose. 

“Don’t bullshit this, Jughead,” he growls. “Don’t act like you had to be forced to be here. The  _ second _ I said Betty needed you, you know you couldn’t get here fast enough. And you’re too much of a coward to face it, but you know what that means.” 

Jughead stepped back as if Archie had slapped him but got no chance to react as a familiar voice and head of red hair stepped between them. 

“Greetings, off-brand Cain and Abel. I see you are well on your way to filling this hallowed hallway with repressed emotions and thinly veiled references as to who owns my beloved cousin. How charming. Well, as helpful as that is, I think it’s time for both of you to go.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The elevator ride is tense and silent, but the outside is better. The cold air helps. It calms the racing hearts. It’s a bucket of cold water thrown over the fire. They don’t make it far; they stand outside the hospital doors, neither of them willing to leave. Archie and Jughead don’t quite make eye contact as they both meander around, but when Archie steals a glance at Jughead, he finds the man’s shoulders hunched. His eyes look sad, haunted. He remembers the way Jughead looked at Betty, even as kids, with starry, bright eyes. Had he ever stopped looking at her like that? 

It’s a slow trickle, these thoughts. Jughead hadn’t hesitated to come, even when he and Betty were further than they had ever been. How he hadn’t hesitated to get close to her. How he seemed to know exactly what she needed. 

  
  


And the way Betty had looked at Jughead. Archie searches his mind, trying to find a time she had looked at him like that. 

That realization is not a trickle, but a wave cresting over him. He sits with it for a few moments, playing through the last few months in his head. 

He flops himself down onto a bench, careful to only take up one side of it. 

“Jug,” he says. “This was...we did this wrong.” 

Jughead’s eyes finally flick close to Archie. “Yeah,” is all he says, but his voice sounds gentler, if only slightly. 

Archie tips his chin to indicate the seat next to him. Jughead casts an eye at the bench, as if Archie is tempting him into a trap. He doesn’t sit, but he takes a step closer. 

So Archie reaches out and closes the gap. Metaphorically speaking, as he senses Jughead would not accept him physically reaching out. 

“She’s...never going to love me that way, man. She’s never going to love me the way she loves you.” 

It is perhaps the most honest thing he has said in months. 

Jughead scoffs, swinging a foot at a nearby garbage can. “I think you mean  _ loved _ .”

Archie shakes his head. “No. I mean loves. And you love her too. I don’t think you two could ever stop feeling that way about each other. Not even if you tried.” 

The words have the intended effect on Jughead. He visibly deflates, and something in his eyes clears. Slowly, he lowers himself to the bench beside Archie, not too close, but it’s enough. 

“You care about her,” Jughead says softly. It feels like a big acknowledgement, from him. 

Archie nods. “Yeah. We care about each other. But I think -I think we were both kidding ourselves. This was never...never what you guys had. I don’t think it could ever be. Whatever this is, with me and Betty...it’s never going to be enough for either of us. Not even if you weren’t in the picture.”

Jughead says nothing, but Archie knows the words land. Jughead breathes deeply beside him, and swallows hard a few times. 

Archie nudges him gently with his shoulder. “You love her too, yeah?”

Jughead lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I do.” 

Archie nods, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Then that’s all that should matter, man. You should go for it.” 

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is, Jug. It’s only complicated because you make it that way. I promise.”

Pulling himself to his feet, Archie offers a hand to Jughead. He hesitates a moment, but he takes it and allows Archie to pull him to his feet. Archie smiles, for real this time. 

“Come on. She’ll wake up eventually and I think I know who she’d want to see first.” 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to likeromeoandjuliet for, you know, giving me an ending that felt satisfying.


End file.
